Seven Sunsets
by 309BakerStreet
Summary: Molly loves the sunset. After the longest days, it is the only thing she wants to see. Molly's reactions to each episode, plus one. Super angst, but still good.


**Disclaimer... I don't own Sherlock or Molly or anything else. Just this idea. **

**Hey guys. So here is the last of the oneshots before I leave. This idea took forever to get down, but it would not leave me alone until I did. It's kinda angsty, but I hope that you like it. I love you all, and I will be back ASAP!**

**Basically, this is just Molly's reaction- one for each episode, where she has a special place where she watches the sunset and thinks. **

30th January

Molly stood outside the hospital at dusk, still trying to believe the events of the day. On particularly hard days, She liked to come out and watch the sunset outside of Bart's hospital. And today had been a particularly hard day. She had done four intensive autopsies and was drowning in the paperwork they had left behind. There was only so much that she could do in one shift, and she was flat out exhausted.

And that had been when Sherlock had come in. Molly had stood there and watched as he beat the lifeless body of a former coworker with a riding crop and wondered what exactly it was about the man that had her head over heels. He was rude, cruel, and manipulative, yes, but Molly liked to think there was something hiding behind that façade. She wanted to get to know the real man, not just the front he put up, which had lead to her asking the self proclaimed sociopath out for coffee.

He had given her his coffee order (as if she didn't know it by heart already) and whisked himself away, pretending to have misunderstood her. Molly doubted that, however. She knew how easy to read she was even to the normal public—of course to the world's only consulting detective her intentions would have been blatantly clear.

She shivered in the January air, and took solace in the steaming cup of coffee in her hand as she watched the sun set behind London. Somehow it made her relax, telling her that being scorned by Sherlock Holmes wasn't the end of the world, and that there were far worse situations she could be in. But she couldn't think of any at the moment.

….

25 March

Molly breathed in the cool spring air and smiled. It had rained earlier in the day, and the smell of the rain still lingered in the air, having a very relaxing effect on Molly. She could almost feel the ample stress of the day melt off of her. She had been stuck on a double shift, doing paperwork for hours when she had finally gotten the chance to go to the cafeteria. She had been standing there, debating whether she wanted the pork or the pasta when Sherlock had surprised her, saying something from a few steps away that ruined even Molly's appetite. There are just some comparisons that ought not to be made.

He had then asked her to show him the bodies of two men, a VanCoon and Lukis. Of course she had recognized the names. The two bodies had been a major part of the paperwork that she had been working on all day, and the curious circumstances around their deaths had made the filing exponentially more difficult than it ever should have been. The last thing she wanted to do was to see or hear their names ever again.

But then Sherlock had pulled out his shockingly insincere flattery that somehow always got Molly to do whatever he wanted. One compliment about her hair (that shouldn't have even counted as a compliment, seeing as she had changed her hair _weeks _ago) and she was unzipping body bags so he could look at their feet. He had left without another word to her, followed by her least favorite detective inspector. No thank you, no goodbye, just something about books and a dramatic exit, leaving Molly to clean up after him.

A cool breeze hit Molly as she pondered the events of the day. It felt fresh and new, and full of potential. It felt exactly how Molly wanted to be. She decided that today was the day that she would make that promise, the one she wasn't sure she could keep. The promise to herself that said she wouldn't let Sherlock manipulate her anymore. She would become a new, strong, confident Molly, unabashed and unashamed.

It would take a long time, if she even could pull it off. But, she thought as she watched the red and gold sky fade to black, now was the time of year for growth and new beginnings. And what a new beginning she would be.

…..

31March

Molly leaned against the hospital's wall, far too exhausted to stand on her own feet. Her lab coat whipped around her in the harsh wind, adding to the sense of chaos that was filling her own mind. She took a deep breath, trying to get hold on herself and her emotions, but when she let it out the tears came of their own accord.

It had started with Sherlock, as it always did. She had been helping him all day to work on that blasted case, digging out pollen spores from trainers and fetching coffee at regular intervals. She had just come back into the room after having run down a file to her boss when Jim, who she had been talking to in the hallway, came in. He had made as if he was going to leave, but Molly couldn't let the opportunity slide. She wanted to show Sherlock that she was desirable, that she wasn't going to fawn over him anymore, because she had found a sweet guy like Jim who actually treated her well.

And so she had invited Jim to come meet Sherlock and his blogger, to show him the new, strong Molly that she had been working on. She had even pretended to forget John's name, trying to show that she no longer was going to let him ignore her. In fact, she could ignore him just as well as he could her. Well, maybe not him. But John was a sweet guy who was very important to Sherlock, and Molly was still taking baby steps.

For the first thirty seconds, it seemed to be going great. She had a massive grin on her face, thinking that she would finally have one interaction with the consulting detective that ended on her terms. And then Molly heard Sherlock, not even bothering to lower his voice, call Jim gay. Her smile faded instantaneously.

For some reason, Sherlock chose to cover this, but Molly wasn't fooled. She called him out on it after Jim had left, and Sherlock had gone straight into one of his deductions. The eyes, the hair, the number-Sherlock tore new Molly apart in a matter of seconds, until all that was left was the mouse that he always turned her into. When he told her that she ought to break it off to save herself the pain, it was all she could do to run away.

She knew that he hadn't meant to hurt her. He never meant to hurt her, not really, but it did happen quite a lot. But sometimes his kindness was crippling to her. The worst part of it was that on some level, Molly knew that Sherlock was right. He was always right, and she knew that pretending that he wasn't wouldn't stop the pain that she would feel from this. It would only delay it for a while. She wiped the tears off her face as the sun fell behind the hospital, and braced herself for what she had to do. As the colors left the sky she went to go talk to Jim.

…

25 December

Molly hung up the phone after whishing her Mum a Merry Christmas, and shivered in the crisp air outside the hospital. The last 24 hours had been extremely taxing. She had been invited to 221B Baker Street for a Christmas celebration last night, which had gone far worse than she could have ever expected.

She had arrived later than anyone else in the room, not because she was late, but because it took her ten full minutes of pacing outside the flat to work up the courage to walk up the stairs. She said her hellos, and then took a deep breath and pulled off her coat, revealing the tight fitted black dress she was wearing to the crowd.

She heard audible exclamations, so she must not look as awkward as she felt, but it still wasn't quite enough to cover her embarrassment. However, even that was only a momentary gratification as Sherlock stood to assess her.

Molly didn't know what had brought it on. Whether it was the boredom he always expressed when in these types of social situations, or the absolute frustration that came with a case he couldn't solve, or whether it had just come rolling out of his mouth without his even realizing what was happening.

But it had happened. She had stood in front of him, the best that she could offer, and he had torn her apart again with his deductions, guessing that she had some new boyfriend that she was trying to impress. Her cheeks flamed red as he explained things that she had done completely subconsciously, and in that moment, as every word he spoke was undeniably true, but ripped at her heart, she realized just how much in love with Sherlock she really was.

He stopped when he saw the note. In shock she remembered what it said- she had been unaware that it was possible for her to be more embarrassed, but here she was. But new Molly was here to stay, no matter what Sherlock said or did, and so, in the quiet voice that was all she had left, she said, "You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always….always."

She saw the understanding that flooded his eyes and knew what it meant. Until right then and there, Sherlock had had no idea that she was so in love with him. He had never accounted her feelings as anything more than a schoolgirl's crush that he could manipulate and control without many consequences. But now she saw him rethink their relationship, and he finally realized how much he had hurt her.

Two things happened in the next few moments that Molly could honestly say she never expected to happen. Sherlock apologized to her, and she could feel that it was sincere. More emotion was in those calm, controlled words than Sherlock would ever admit to having in his whole body, and they had been addressed to Molly.

And then he surprised her again by coming to her and placing a kiss on her cheek. She didn't know what that meant, nor did she bother to try and figure it out at this point. She had always known that it would take something truly awful for Sherlock to start to treat her the way she deserved. However, actually going through it had affected her far more than she had thought. She had been lost in her own thoughts the rest of the night, which luckily didn't last too long, seeing as there was finally a lead in the case that Sherlock had been on for so long.

Molly had headed home to change, and was determined to find some form of Christmas cheer when she was summoned to Bart's four hours before her shift was supposed to start. Unfortunately, being the only single person who worked in the morgue meant that she never got this particular holiday off, and being the only pathologist that Sherlock would work with meant that she never really got the others off either.

She froze when she first saw him, but met his gaze steadily, letting him know that she wouldn't be defeated by him anymore. He looked surprised at the steel in her eyes, but didn't comment. She opened the body bag to the horribly disfigured face, and then at Sherlock's request to the entire body. The woman on the slab had obviously been very beautiful before, and Molly started to be jealous of the poise she must have had, the confidence and elegance that was evident to her even in death.

And then something happened to wrench her away from her thoughts completely, as Sherlock identified the body. She looked at the gruesome face again. No, there was no distinguishable facial features, not even for somebody as good as Sherlock. She had watched him look the body up and down, and realized that he hadn't needed the face. He already knew the body well enough to make the identification.

This pulled the air out of Molly's lungs immediately as he walked away. She worked hard to regain it as she asked his brother, "How did Sherlock recognize her from… not-her-face?" She only received a sad smile as her answer, and he walked away, leaving Molly to her now pressing work.

She had always known that Sherlock thought sentiment was a waste of time, a distraction. But as she watched the sunset fade and her tea turn cold, she wondered about the woman who had made him reconsider. It had hurt, but not as badly as she would've thought. Everyone had a weakness, that one person for whom they would reconsider everything. Sherlock was hers, he always had been. With a sad smile and a slight ache in her chest, she realized that Sherlock may have found his.

…..

16March

Molly sat outside the hospital on her laptop, reading John's blog as she sipped her coffee right before sunset, trying to unwind from another long day. Her eyes were wide as she read, her heart going out to poor Henry Knight, who had been driven mad by the Hound. The fact that someone would intentionally do that to someone, only for the sake of testing out a drug, was sickening to her, and she shut her laptop with a sigh.

It did explain some things, however. Sherlock had called her late the other night, asking something about how hallucinogenic drugs would affect the system if they were dissolved into a liquid before ingesting. Looking at it now, she understood that this had been his sugar theory.

She would be almost a bit excited that he had finally gotten something wrong (she knew it would have to happen eventually) were it not for the tone of his voice. She had never heard Sherlock so shaken before, so…scared. It seemed a strange emotion on the detective, but the more Molly thought about it, the more her heart went out to him. For someone who refused to acknowledge emotion, this reaction was even more heartbreaking, simply because he didn't understand what was going on.

To have your world shaken, twisted, and turned upside down like that… Molly could only imagine what that would be like. He pretended to be fine, but Molly had known that he was really on edge. She could hear the fear in his voice, and although he didn't want to admit it, he had proven that he was human.

She pondered what a more human Sherlock would be like as the sky turned a rosy pink. Someone more open to feeling and emotion would be far easier to get along with, but would he still be Sherlock? It looked like they were headed in that direction anyway, and she wondered if they would all be able to handle the change.

…..

12 June

Molly stood shaking outside of the hospital. The stress of the last 48 hours was finally catching up to her, and she couldn't balance anymore. She slid down along the wall of the Bart's courtyard, where she could be alone and nobody would bother her, and felt her body seize with the sobs that were refusing to come out.

Sherlock Holmes was dead, and she had been the one who killed him.

At least, the world thought he was dead. Lestrade thought he was dead. John… Oh, John. She could only imagine what he must have been going through. He had, after all, watched Sherlock jump, had heard him cry before he fell, had run to the body and checked the pulse before he was pulled away. He would suffer the most of them all.

Sherlock's 'body' had been brought down and laid on the slab a few hours ago. She had acted her part well, sobbing and not letting any other pathologist touch the body. She had done the autopsy on the John Doe that Mycroft had found that matched Sherlock's description, and fudged the report so that by all records, Sherlock Holmes was undeniably confirmed dead.

The tears had been real. She was mourning Sherlock as much as anyone else, though for a different reason. She was mourning his losses- John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade- he had been forced to make a terrible choice between letting them die and causing them deep, scarring emotional pain. And he was forced to live with those consequences.

So Molly would mourn the man who could not mourn himself. She felt an arm around her shoulder as if on cue, and she settled into the warm pressure without realizing or caring who it was. When she finally looked up, she saw the consulting detective wrapped around her, his face stoic while his eyes betrayed his pain.

"Sherlock!" she whispered, her shock written all over her tear stained face. "Wh… why are you here? And what about the cameras?" She added that as an afterthought, pointing at the camera directly facing them on the wall of the hospital.

"I had them disabled years ago. This is where you come to be alone, and I thought that if that is what you wanted when you came here, you ought to truly be able to be alone, without any possibility of it being broadcast to some security guard." Molly was impressed by the thoughtfulness of this action, although a little disturbed by the lack of ethics. But then again, this was Sherlock.

He continued speaking, his voice in a monotone. "And as for why I am here, Molly, I am here to be with you. You are the only person who knows that I am even alive, and I am still…" He took a deep breath and looked his pathologist in the eye. "Molly, I am not okay."

She was startled by the sincerity and hurt in his eyes. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him and let him sink into her embrace. They sat there for what felt like hours, not speaking, just letting the silence envelop them.

…..

Three years later

The small pathologist stood in the courtyard outside of the hospital without a jacket, shivering on the uncharacteristically cold summer evening. It felt like she had spent more time out in the small courtyard during the last three years than not.

She wondered what it would be like when he returned. It would be less than 24 hours from now, if Mycroft was correct. She wondered how everyone would react to him, and how they would treat her after finding out that she knew all this time that he was alive. And she wondered if things would be different between them.

He had randomly made contact with her every once in a while over the course of the last few years, giving her just enough information about his work to make her sick with worry. But they had seemed to grow closer. He treated her with more respect, and was more willing to allow her to see the side of him that he always kept so hidden. He would thank her, or express appreciation in some form or another far more often than before. And he was kinder, more sincere.

As for Molly herself, she had lived up to the promise she had made to herself so long ago. She no longer was the weak Molly that everyone would walk over. She had a backbone, a steel to her that came over time and with lots of work. She had formed deep, meaningful friendships with John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. And she was happy.

She hoped that things wouldn't go back exactly to the way they were before, but she couldn't help but wonder how Sherlock would react to his old life. She stood contemplating the twisting clouds in the pink and gold sky when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. She smiled as she breathed in the scent, her answer loud and clear in the simple gesture. "Sherlock."


End file.
